Akhenaten's Akhetaten: A Day at Tell el-Amarna

“Why are my
messengers kept standing in the open sun?....They will be killed in the open
sun,” wrote the Assyrian king Ashuruballit I to King Akhenaten, following the
return of his sunburnt and weary envoys from the newly founded Egyptian city of
Akhetaten, ‘the Horizon of the Sun Disc – better known today as Tell el-Amarna.[1]

The main problem,
it seems, was the new religion, instigated by the pharaoh himself - King
Akhenaten. Thanks to Akhenaten’s particular beliefs, gone were the multitude of
interestingly-headed gods, unusual netherworld beliefs, and dark secluded
sanctuaries in which Egypt’s deities would be served by submissive priests
during arcane ceremonies. Instead everyone had to worship the sun disc, known
as the Aten, through the king himself as intermediary. Indeed, Akhenaten loved
the Aten so much that he had earlier changed his name from Amenhotep IV to
honour the new state god. For visiting foreign envoys, such internal religious
matters might not normally have played heavily on their minds; however, since the
new pharaoh’s sun worship meant doing business standing out in the midday sun,
in open courts, without any shade, for extended periods of time, things had
become rather unbearable. Sweating whilst watching the young king perform his
daily rituals, any visiting envoy would find it easy to pine for the good old
days of the god Amun – the Hidden One, cool and fresh within his dark sanctuary
– and wonder what in Aten’s name was going on.

Visiting Tell
el-Amarna

Just as many ancient
foreign envoys might have wanted to avoid visiting Tell el-Amarna, most modern tourists
also skip seeing the site, despite its rich archaeological and historical
significance. So, in order to highlight this touristic travesty, I decided to
venture there myself. I stayed in Minya, a beautiful, clean city, about four
hours from Cairo by train, bizarrely equipped with its own Hollywoodesque “El
Minya” sign up in the surrounding hills; from here it’s an easy taxi ride to
the ancient site. Well, except for the river getting in the way.

My taxi ground
to a halt alongside the riverbank, becoming one of many vehicles anxiously
waiting for the ancient green ferry to putter its way across the Nile, pick us
up, and deliver us to the village of El-Till on the other side. From a distance
the ferry looked like a home-made aircraft carrier, adapted to house an
excessively large floating community of cars, trucks and about forty people. From
my distant vantage point I could see five life-rings hanging from a wall, while
a little further down the river a similar ferry looked to be slowly sinking; all
in all not good signs.

Still, all along
the riverbank the local villagers were washing their clothes, while children
played beside them in the shade of tall palm trees. Just another day in the
village, I thought to myself, this boat’s been doing this journey for at least five
hundred years; it would be unbelievable bad luck for it to sink today. Twenty
minutes later, and onboard, I decided to calm my fears further by making small
talk with the captain, only to find that he immediately and quite happily
passed over control of the boat to me. Bolstered by my sudden promotion, my
fear of sinking was left behind and I steered us on a good course to the east
bank of the river. I was going to enter Amarna in style – the captain of my own
boat. The real captain had a cigarette break.

The City of
Akhenaten

Visiting Amarna
today, it is difficult to envision what sight greeted any diplomatic envoy who
begrudgingly went there three thousand years ago – during the period of Egypt’s
18th Dynasty. The city today is a moonscape, with virtually nothing evident
on the surface. However, from archaeological excavations we know that it was
planned from the outset as three major sections, today labelled the north
suburb, the central quarter and the south suburb. These were connected by three
roads, heading north-south. Altogether, it is thought that about thirty
thousand people lived within this space, many probably wondering what they were
doing there.

The Northern and
Southern Tombs

The first major
attraction at Amarna is the private tombs. The nobles and officials, who were
presumably forced to move to Akhetaten in order to continue their careers, were
also to be buried there; apparently it wasn’t enough to abandon your traditional
beliefs for the sake of your career, you had to abandon them for eternity too. Obviously
Akhenaten couldn’t create an entire new capital city without the help of the
government and military, and so it puts a nice spin on the common perception
that the Egyptians were obsessed with religion, tradition and order, knowing
that these ancient politicians (just like modern politicians) did whatever was
best to further their careers. “You want to keep your jobs,” Akhenaten probably
complained, “you’re moving to my boiling new city in the middle of nowhere and
worshipping who I tell you! And bring the wife and kids.” It must have been a
bit like being forced to join one of those wacky cults that occasionally spring
up in remote parts of the USA, except without the alien obsession and FBI
surveillance and a lot more standing around in the sun.

The tombs are
split into two groups, today known as the northern and southern tombs, cut into
the cliffs to the east of the city. My first stop was the Northern Tombs, which
lie up a steep, long slope. Panting and out of breath as I followed the
rock-lined path to the top of the cliff, I then followed the tomb guardian
along the ridge as he slowly opened the tombs one by one. While waiting for the
tombs to be unlocked, and their heavy metal gates to be swung open, I walked to
the edge of the escarpment and looked out over the desolate archaeological
site. In the far distance was the cultivation, followed by the river; the
yellow sand, green fields and blue water starkly contrasting with one another
as they disappeared towards the horizon.

I entered six of
the rock cut tombs: one being the tomb of Huya, who was Overseer of the Royal
Harim and Steward of the Great Royal Wife, Tiye – the mother of Akhenaten – who
apparently came to visit the new city in her old age. Other tombs belong to Akhenaten’s
priestly staff: the High Priest of the Aten, and two Chief Servitors of the
Aten. One of these tombs, that of Panehesy, had been adapted into a Coptic
church in antiquity.

The southern
cluster of tombs is not as impressive as the northern group, and many were left
unfinished when the city was abandoned. Still, of those that can be seen, one belonged
to the God’s Father Aye, a man who would later become king after Tutankhamun’s premature
death, while another was for the Chief of Police. Another tomb belonged to an
Overseer of all the Works of the King, whose name has been erased throughout
his tomb showing that he had fallen from favour. Throughout each tomb images of
the king’s life and family dominate the walls – the king’s journey from his
palace to the temple; the king’s bestowal of office or reward, the royal family
together - all executed in the unique exaggerated style of the period.

The Royal Tomb

After visiting
the rock cut tombs of the nobles, I visited the tomb of the heretic king
himself. Akhenaten’s tomb lies down an atmospheric wadi; empty and quiet
except for the wind that occasionally rumbles past your ears as you stand in
the shade of the surrounding cliffs. Although open for some time, lighting and
walkways have recently been introduced into the tomb, making access much easier
than before. As I descended into the dim neon glow, and walked down the long
straight axis of the tomb, it quickly became obvious that the decoration had everywhere
been attacked by those wishing to extinguish Akhenaten from history, leaving
only fragmentary remains behind. It’s hard not to feel sorry for the poor king
when his tomb has been so completely decimated. To be honest though, most of
the destruction in the tomb was probably done by those that had willingly
followed him out there to Amarna; “I had to sell all my cows and my nice house
in Thebes to move out here,” you can almost hear one of them yelling, “and then
everything you said turned out to be garbage,” before taking another whack at a
carving of Akhenaten’s flabby elongated face with his chisel.

Two separate
suites of rooms branch off from the main tomb axis. The first, closest to the
entrance, may have been for Queen Nefertiti, while the second was perhaps for
Meketaten, one of Akhenaten’s daughters. Scenes in the three rooms here show
the death of the princess, with Akhenaten and Nefertiti standing over the body
of their daughter. Nearby a new born baby is shown, which some scholars have taken
as evidence of the young princess dying during childbirth.

The Small
Temple to the Aten

Leaving the
tombs behind, I ended my tour by visiting The Small Temple to the Aten, where
the king would go to make offerings to the sun disc. The road that leads to the
temple actually follows the original ‘royal road’ of Amarna, down which the king
and his family would ride their chariots under heavy escort to the central
quarter of the city. Knowing this, I felt rather regal as I, like Akhenaten
three thousand years earlier, stepped down from my vehicle and entered the
temple. It was probably a lot more impressive three thousand years ago,
however, when there wasn’t a long row of electricity pylons and a flimsy
barb-wire fence next to it.

Unlike many of
the famous temples of Upper Egypt, little is preserved of the small temple; only
its foundations and the modern reconstruction work betray its original size and
layout. It no doubt looked a lot more impressive in Akhenaten’s day. I passed
through the pylon gateway, and found a large reconstructed altar, originally
reached by a few steps, upon which Akhenaten would offer food to the Aten. Then,
as I continued along the central axis of the temple, the remains of many
columns came into sight; these once stood at the rear of the temple in the sanctuary
area. Today, however, only one modern column still stands, sadly and solitarily
poking its head in the direction of its long-ignored solar deity.

Looking closely
at the area around the temple, I could see mud-brick walls peeking out of the
sand in all directions; some stood to a reasonable height, while others could
barely be seen above the sand. These were once the great buildings of the
central quarter, the pulsing heartbeat of Akhetaten, the storerooms and
administrative buildings, all now reclaimed by the environment and slowly baked
by the sun.

The End of the
Line

After seventeen
years of rule, Akhenaten died and his new regime quickly fell apart. The old traditions
were resumed and every occurrence of Akhenaten’s name and image were attacked.
From that moment on he would be known as the “enemy of Akhetaten.” His city was
dismantled, piece by piece, leaving only its bare foundations, and his tomb was
ransacked. Even Akhenaten’s sarcophagus was hacked to pieces and left scattered
in his burial chamber. It was subsequently reconstructed, however, and can now be
found around the west side of the Egyptian Museum, Cairo. Despite the good
intentions of the conservators, it is completely unmarked and ignored by the
thousands of tourists that go to the museum each day. It is ironic though that
despite the destructive efforts of the ancient Egyptians, Akhenaten is today
one of Egypt’s most famous kings.

In the end then,
despite complaining to their king, I hope that the ancient foreign envoys, who once
stood so long in the sun in this tragic experiment of a city, left Amarna with
the same feeling that I did as I was driving away in my taxi, back toward the aging
ferry – they may have been hot and tired, and slightly concerned about the
eccentric pharaoh’s mental health, but I’m sure that they were happy they went,
because Tell el-Amarna, the period that it embodies, and the snapshot of
history it represents is unique; being there to witness the physical result of
Akhenaten’s great upheaval provides a glimpse into something special. For this
reason alone Akhenaten deserves his place in history, saved, like his city,
from the annihilation of time.

About Garry

I am an Egyptologist, Lecturer and Author, writing on ancient history, travel and heritage.

I am the author of The Pharaoh: Life at Court and on Campaign, The Egyptian Myths: A Guide to the Ancient Gods and Legends, and War and Trade with the Pharaohs: An Archaeological Study of Ancient Egypt's Foreign Relations.

I have taught Egyptology at the American University in Cairo, the University of Liverpool, the Egypt Exploration Society, and as a part-time tutor for Oxford University's Department for Continuing Education. As an archaeologist, I've worked for fieldwork projects in Egypt, Turkey, and the UK.

My work has appeared in The Independent, The Art Newspaper, Apollo Magazine, History Today, Timeless Travels, Current World Archaeology, Science Magazine, B.Inspired (Brussels Airline Magazine), and Showbiz Culture (SC Exhibitions Magazine), among others.